run while you still can
by estrangedlestrange
Summary: He sacrificed himself to save his his best friends and sentenced himself to a life of slavery. She believed him to be dead - her husband, which for the first time she could admit - and found herself alone and pregnant. Both are wrong in their beliefs. And when they learn the truth, nothing in the galaxy will be the same.
1. a new story begins

**A/N: Dark themes are covered in this story. While nothing is graphic it is important to know that there is rape, slavery, and torture.**

 **Disclaimer: I own none of this.**

* * *

The worst part about it was that she found out from the holonews. No, that wasn't true, that was the shock speaking, the worst part of it was that her husband was dead. But, her first thought upon learning of his death was that learning about it from reporters was the worst part. When she had married Anakin she knew that the risks of a secret marriage included learning bad news from outside sources but knowing and experiencing were very different things, she discovered. He was dead. The Hero with No Fear was _dead_. Her _husband_ was _dead_. And she found out from a news reporter. Padmé fell to her knees crying.

* * *

The worst part about it was the he was never going to see her again. No, that wasn't true, that was the trauma speaking, the worst part was that he was now a slave, again, but his first thought as he bowed before the Zygerrian queen was of Padmé. How he was never going to see her again. How he was going to have to spend the rest of his life as a slave, after he and his mother lost so much for his freedom, serving a queen he hated and his wife would never know. At least Obi-Wan, Rex, and Ahsoka were free, at least he had that solace. But he would probably be declared dead, the mission too covert and his fame too widespread to announce his captivity. _Kriff,_ his wife would have learned about his supposed death in the worst way possible, not the way that a war hero's wife deserved. He was legally dead, his wife was alone, and she would never know the truth. The truth that he was a slave, just like when they met. _No, I'm a person and my name is Anakin_ , he told himself. He kneeled before the queen and hoped his helmet hid his tears.

* * *

 **A/N: This fic is an AU of the Clone Wars episode _The Slaves of the Republic_. It takes AU pretty seriously, deviating from canon in a lot of places, but it's a story I've had running through my mind for a while now and wanted to share. Other than this, the first 6 chapters are completed and will be posted slowly (except for chapter 1 which I'm posting as soon as this is posted.)**


	2. oh my poor soul

**A/N: Dark themes are covered in this story. While nothing is graphic it is important to know that there is rape, slavery, and torture.**

 **Disclaimer: I own none of this.**

* * *

It was just the stress, or at least that's what she managed to convince herself at first. The nausea had started just over a week after Anakin's death, which Padmé was able to tell herself was just her body's way of reacting to the loss. She felt dead inside, with her husband dead, so it made sense that she would also have a physical reaction, especially when considering she couldn't outwardly express her emotions. Nobody could see an esteemed senator mourning a Jedi knight the way one mourns a husband. It would tarnish Anakin's reputation, which was why they kept the secret in the first place. The memory of the Hero With No Fear would be destroyed and people still needed that, needed Anakin, even with him gone. His legacy sustained people, his memory gave them hope. She couldn't take that away by mourning her husband's death publicly. She still needed him but that was beside the point, with the war still spreading.

But her nausea quickly turned into vomiting and Padmé found herself leaving multiple meetings to empty the contents of her stomach. Her colleagues, notably Bail and Mon, noticed her sickness but Padmé continued insisting it was nothing. It had to be nothing, she just had a cold, that was the reason she was waking up sick and throwing up throughout the day, and why the smell of shurra fruit made her stomach churn and she would do anything for chocolate covered bantha jerky. She was peeing a lot but it had to be because she was drinking so much water to ease her nausea. Her exhaustion and fatigue was because of how much her heart ached for husband. It could all be explained away. It wasn't until Padmé was trying to tie her senatorial robe only to feel like everything was too snug that she realized her ailments might be more than disease and the symptoms mourning. Giving up on her robes she slipped into the most comfortable clothing she owned, one of Anakin's extra tunics and a pair of her casual leggings. Wrapped in the comfort of his clothes Padmé couldn't help but think of him, and then she thought of how sick she'd been. Her eyes seemed to bulge and it felt like for a second her heart had stopped. She was no longer in denial, that was for sure.

An uncomfortable feeling formed deep in the pit of her stomach, unrelated to the nearly constant nausea, as Padmé asked her handmaiden, Moteé, to call into her senatorial office to inform the staff that she would be out sick for the day. Before she even heard a response from her handmaiden, Padmé locked herself in her bathroom and riffled through the cabinet. She knew she had a spare one somewhere, she'd always had one on hand since her marriage. When she spotted the box at the back of a drawer, next to sanitary products that she just realized she had not used since before Anakin's death, she froze. _This can't be happening_ , she thought.

Padmé's eyes scanned over the instructions for the test. A prick of blood from the tip of her finger, wait five standard minutes, and then look at the screen for the results. Those proved to be some of the longest five minutes of her life. Padmé paced her bedroom, wringing her hands and checking the clock every few seconds, the test sat on the counter in the bathroom, processing her blood. She had thought being in a different room would ease her nerves but it had clearly been false hope. When the ding of a timer announced the five minutes had passed, Padmé nearly fell from the momentum of her desperate rush. She stopped just short of the counter, scared to see the results of the test. She wasn't even sure what result she wanted. With a deep breath, Padmé grabbed the small stick and read the results. Seconds later the test fell to the ground, released from her hand, loose due to shock. Hands clutching her stomach, Padmé backed up until she was against the wall and slowly slid to the ground, joining the pregnancy test on the cool bathroom tile. The screen of the test seemed to be burned into her mind. **Positive. 3 Months.** _What am I going to do?_

She didn't even realize she was crying until Moteé knocked softly on the door and asked her what was wrong. Unable to speak, Padmé flung her arms around Moteé, seeking some much-needed comfort. Her handmaiden caught her, startled, but quickly responded, hugging her lady. When Moteé's eyes landed on the pregnancy test discarded on the ground, she understood. Gently, she took Padmé tighter in her arms before leading her lady back into the bedroom. She lay her down, wrapping blankets tight around her. The handmaid's heart was breaking for her lady, how could it not, when she knew the father of the unborn child was dead and, somewhere far away, scattered among the stars.

Late into the day, when the warm early evening light coated her bedroom with a honey hue, Padmé rose from her bed, clutching her small snippet of japor. The tears that had raced down her cheeks were long dry and a determination had settled deep in Padmé's soul. She was going to do this. "Moteé, I need you to schedule me a doctor's appointment."

"Of course, milady." Her handmaiden replied, not telling her lady that she already had done so.

"Threepio," Padmé called, when the droid came in she instructed him, "I want all of the wine and brandy removed from my apartment, could you do that for me? And once that's done collect as many holobooks you can on human pregnancy," She paused for a second and added as an afterthought, "And any on single parenting." As the droid puttered out of the room, Padmé nodded to herself and moved to her balcony. A hand drifted to her abdomen and she laid it gently above where she knew their child rested. He was gone but he had left her one last gift. Anakin would never know about their baby, about the life they created through their love, but she knew and she was going to be the best mother possible. She was going to do it, Padmé was confident. As she stood, looking over the endless city coated in the golden fading light of the sun, Padmé smiled, a soft barely-there curve of the lips, for the first time since Anakin's death.

* * *

Padmé's first week knowing she was pregnant was her first happy week since that dreaded holoreport. Her nausea and vomiting, despite being uncomfortable, felt like a gift. It meant her child was growing. Their child. With Anakin dead she had lost her everything. She had no holos of the two of them, all their pictures were stored in Artoo, who was most likely scrap metal beside Anakin's distant grave. All she had left of him was the japor snippet, the necklace that spent every moment resting against Padmé's heart or cradled in her hand and his padawan braid, tucked safely in a box, hidden below her bed. But being pregnant meant she had more. She had a piece of Anakin with her always. A piece of Anakin growing and changing and keeping her strong. A piece of Anakin that in six or so months would be in her arms, living evidence of their love. _It wouldn't be a secret anymore_ , Padmé realized. She also realized she didn't care. Damn the consequences, she had already lost Anakin, she wasn't going to hide their love from their baby, from the galaxy, not without him by her side.

Bail commented on how happy she looked one afternoon at the end of a meeting. It took all of Padmé's strength not to blurt out that she was expecting, it was too early to tell. But she did skim her hand over where her baby grew and smiled in reply, "I'm feeling happy, Bail," She replied honestly, "I'm feeling happy."

His eyes twinkled with kindness and he placed a warm hand on her shoulder as he said, "That is good to hear, my friend, after the news of Knight Skywalker's death… I know how close the two of you were."

Padmé's own smile faded a little at Bail's words, "We were close," Padmé said as diplomatically as she could, "And I will miss him greatly, but I cannot let his death put my own life on hold." For a moment, Padmé expected Bail to say more on the subject but instead he suggested they go out for dinner with Breha, his wife, who so rarely left Alderaan and was visiting him for the week. Graciously, Padmé had to decline. While she would have loved to see Breha, she knew that seeing such a happy couple would only hurt her, so close to Anakin's death. As they parted, Padmé reminded Bail that she would not be in the senate building the next day due to personal matters, meaning her first prenatal appointment.

Part of Padmé considered just seeing a medical droid, but she knew if Anakin were with her he would want the best care possible for their baby, and only a sentient doctor could provide such care. She was nervous entering the medical center and as she waited to meet with her doctor. Her heart clenched as she filled out the necessary paperwork and, for the first time since her marriage, was honest about her relationship status, as she checked off the widowed box. She bit her lip as she handed the datachip with her medical and personal information on it, knowing that from that moment on, even if it wasn't instantaneous, her marriage to Anakin would be revealed. Someone would connect the dots and even with laws in place protecting patient confidentiality, both her and Anakin were too high profile for no one to be willing to break the rules. Even then, she had written her name as Padmé Naberrie Skywalker. The nurse would announce to the entire waiting room that they were ready for her. The news would be out. And, surprising even herself, Padmé wasn't worried. She wanted people to know about her marriage. She had spent months worrying about hiding their marriage to protect his legacy but their baby was the only legacy that mattered. She'd lost him and she never got to claim him, so with their baby one day carrying his name, she wanted the galaxy to know he was hers, even for such a short time. Padmé ghosted a comforting hand over her abdomen, it was the right thing to do, it was what she wanted to do. There was no longer a risk of Anakin being expelled from the Jedi Order. The only damage would be to her reputation and, frankly, the holonews would probably portray her as a broken-hearted widow carrying the grief of raising a child alone and would most likely improve her approval rating.

"Mrs. Skywalker," A nurse called, her eyes were down at the datapad immediately darted up to look for who shared a name with the Hero with No Fear, as did all the other pregnant woman waiting for their turn, "Oh my, Senator Amidala. Right this way." _By the time I'm done with this appointment everyone between here and Tatooine will know about our marriage_ , Padmé thought as she followed the nurse into an examination room. The nurse puttered around, doing basic tests such as taking her temperature, her blood pressure, weight, and all the other exams that can be conducted without a doctor. "Doctor Ack-shah will be with you in just a moment, you should change into this gown while you wait," The nurse said as she was leaving. She paused in the doorway and added, "Congratulations, Senator, and… I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Padmé said, her eyes getting misty when she realized it was the first words of condolence she received from someone other than a handmaiden.

Forty-five standard minutes later when Padmé left the doctor's office with her bag weighed down from pregnancy pamphlets, her eyes were misty for a whole different reason. How was she supposed to raise _twins_ alone?

* * *

The first months on Zygerria were the worst months of his entire life, bar none. It was worse than the month when the war started, when he lost his mother and his arm within the span of days, because at least then he had Padmé, he had hope, he had freedom. Now he was alone and enslaved. It was a necessary trade, his freedom for the lives of Ahsoka, Obi-wan, and Rex, but it still was brutal on Anakin. But he had been presented the choice between sentencing his friends to a life of slavery and most likely death or freeing them by swearing loyalty to the queen. Doubting that the Jedi would risk their resources to save them, Anakin saw no other choice, and agreed.

His work for the queen consisted of standing guard. Wherever she went, he was instructed to follow, his head held high despite the force restricting cuffs, dressed like the lavish jewelry of the queen, that adorned his arms. Anakin remembered his mother always walking tall, being able to maintain dignity despite an entire life in slavery. He felt like a pet led on a leash, the queen parading him around as her prized protector and captive Jedi wrapped into the perfect package of the attractive Hero With No Fear.

Every time the queen, _call me Miraj when we are alone_ , came near him, Anakin had to suppress a shudder. She disgusted him in so many ways. Her entire empire, her rulership, was built on slavery. Equality was a joke to her and the rights of sentient beings mattered not. All that mattered was money for her and her people, for the success of the Zygerrians and no one else. She was the antithesis of Padmé. Padmé who supported democracy, freedom for everyone, who fought to end slavery and end conflict. Padmé who he loved. Her differences from Padmé, so disgusting and glaringly obvious in every way, made her actions towards him so much worse.

She invaded his space, tracing a claw gently down his cheek, his arm, his chest, every time she passed. When walking she had him stand close to her, too close, as if he was her looming shadow. The worst was the end of the night. Every night when they would reach the ornate doors to her personal quarters she would turn to him. She would slowly trace a pattern across his armored chest or his exposed arm and bring her mouth close to his ear, whispering a request for him to join her. Every night he refused.

"Soon, my dear pet, you will join me," She would always purr, tracing one final line down his bicep, before slipping into her room.

Every night Anakin would return to his own lavish quarters, a thinly veiled cell, and resist the urge to vomit. Once his nausea, solely from his disgust for the queen, faded, Anakin would lay down his bed, armor tossed to the side, and scratch another tally mark in the stone wall. Sometimes he would try to reach out in the Force to Padmé, to Obi-wan, to anybody, but the cuffs never let his message go past the walls of his own mind. Sometimes he would scratch the design from the japor snippet he had given Padmé so long ago into the wall. Most nights though, he would simply fall into a restless sleep, his mind struggling against the Force blocking of his cuffs and his heart aching to be home. His work should have been easy, but bearing the emotional toll of it all was the hardest thing Anakin had ever faced. But by the end of the sixth month it was easy, for he had grown numb. Slavery had become his life once more.

* * *

 **A/N: All following chapters will have the same format as this, a section from** **Padmé's point of view and then one from Anakin's.**


	3. two hearts started dancing

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to post, I was hoping to get further in the other chapters but was struggling with some writer's block and decided it was better to post this for you all than wait longer! Enjoy!**

* * *

Nervously, Padmé adjusted her jacket, pulling so it covered more of her protruding stomach. Since her election as the Nubian queen Padmé had been accustomed to holoreporters and cameras following her around, but it had never been as much of a constant or as invasive as it had been since the news of her marriage and pregnancy was revealed. She went from being one of the leaders of the senate minority and an outspoken opponent of the war to tabloid fodder within the span of a single doctor's appointment. Six months had passed since her private life became public knowledge and Padmé still could not escape the cameras.

The only thing stopping Padmé from taking her purse and whacking the nearest camera out of the sky was the comforting fact that in two weeks she would be home. She had decided to have the baby on Naboo and would be off Coruscant and away from probing eyes in just two weeks. Her due date was three weeks away and then she would have at least for months of peace, bonding with her children and free from the relentless gaze of the public. After talks with the queen it was decided that a representative would be taking her place in the senate while she is away on maternity leave and, when ready, Padmé would be welcomed back to her position. It was a comfort for Padmé, despite the turmoil of her pregnancy and the loss of Anakin, she could continue to work for the improvement of the galaxy and be a mother for her twins.

Padmé had been sure it was the perfect plan, even with the cameras still following her. And it would have been the perfect plan if not for the fact that babies, like all children, never follow their parents plans. Which was why, as Padmé tightened her jacket, she felt a tightening in her abdomen. She brushed off the wave of pain, she had been having practice contractions on and off for the past month. The pain was not going to stop her from going into the senate building to work on her newest bill. It was at the top of the senate steps, right before entering the building, when there was another wave of tightening and pain. The pain was worse than it had been before but again, she ignored it, just as she ignored the cameras she was leaving behind by entering the building. It was not until Padmé was sitting behind her desk, trying to read through the latest update in the bill made by Bail, and the fourth or fifth wave of pain came, about ten standard minutes after the one before, that Padmé realized the contractions might not be practice.

Her head shot up and she looked at the clock. She couldn't be sure exactly how much time had passed and decided to keep track of how much time passed before the next tightening feeling. If the contractions would practice, the gap between the feeling would be long and inconsistent. But instead, ten minutes after she started counting, the pain was back, rippling through her lower body and spreading from her back.

"Kriff," She said, under her breath, as she prayed for tears not to form. She wasn't ready. She wasn't _home_. She had been prepared to give birth without Anakin by her side but without her family? With no one? Taking steadying breaths, Padmé pulled out her com and sent a message to Moteé, begging the handmaiden to come to the office and help. Seconds later, when the handmaiden hurried in to help her stand from her desk, Padmé had managed to steel herself to do this alone. She had been queen at fourteen, she had stopped wars and fought battles, she had broken laws and broken hearts, she could do what billions upon billions of women have always done and give birth. Even if she wasn't home, even if she didn't have cribs in her apartment or her mother's hand to hold, Padmé was ready to give birth.

* * *

For a moment, for just one single moment, Padmé considered dying. She thought to herself she could bring her babies into the world and just die. That would be it. She could just slip away and be reunited with Anakin. But then Luke was born and one of the healers attending to her held him up for her to see. And there shining in her son's eyes was Anakin, in the scrunch of his nose and the newborn wails, Padmé could see Anakin. And she also saw her future. She couldn't leave her babies. She wasn't ready to die, and so Padmé did not die. Padmé had just a moment to reach out and hold one of Luke's tiny hands before the next contraction hit. It was one of the most perfect moments of her life.

Delivering Leia felt easier for Padmé. While it was only a few minutes between, she knew she could do it. She had Luke only feet away from her as proof that she could do it. With one final strong push, Leia's wails filled the room, joining the softer cries of her brother. Padmé collapsed against the pillows behind her, drained of energy but wearing the biggest smile she had worn in months. Despite her hair being plastered across her forehead from sweat, the red around her eyes from crying, and the bright flush to her face, Padmé had never looked more radiant than the moment after giving birth. It was as if all the light in the galaxy was centered on her and her two babies. Just as she had with Luke, Padmé reached out a hand towards Leia, tracing her index finger down the soft curve of the newborn's cheek.

"They're perfect," Padmé said, more to herself than any of the healers, "They're absolutely perfect." As Leia was brought away to be cleaned and tested, Luke was placed into her arms, his eyelids already fluttering closed, hiding away the same blue eyes of his father.

Despite her exhaustion, once she had both twins, Padmé had no desire to go to sleep. She sat up in her bed with both newborns laying in her lap, Luke sleeping soundly and Leia looking up at her with large brown eyes. Padmé had to hold back tears when she gave herself a single moment to think of Anakin, she didn't want to mar the happiness of her children's birth with the sorrow she felt, "Your father should be here. He would love you so much. So very much."

Come the next morning her parents and sister would arrive on an express transport from Naboo, but for that night it was just her and her babies. She pressed kisses across their cheeks, atop their heads, along their fingertips and toes, treasuring every detail of them. Alone with the twins, she tried to memorize every detail of them, from Luke's long lashes to the soft curve of Leia's nose. As Luke's fingers curled around one of Padmé's fingers, a warmth spread through her. She was all they had, and, in many ways, they were all she had, as well. Padmé learned how to feed them, how to hold them, and how to change a diaper with only the healer to help. But with each new skill she learned and with each new detail of her babies she studied, Padmé grew more confident in the fact that she could be a mother. That she could be a single mother.

* * *

Something was different. The Force felt brighter, brighter than anything Anakin had ever felt before. If he stretched his memory maybe, but just maybe, it had been as bright and harmonious when he was on Tatooine, young and in the arms of his mother, protected despite the terrors of slavery. But whatever had happened, whatever had resonated, was so strong, so light, so pure, that it managed to travel lightyears and break through not only the darkness that clouded the Force since the start of the war but also through the powerful Force repressing cuffs adorning his wrists.

The light in the Force was so strong, the when Anakin felt it he stumbled. It was as if the balance of the universe tilted closer to the light and as it moved, it made his footing change, too. Queen Miraj glanced at him, only interested enough in his actions to be curious as to why he broke from his stance, not to know what had truly caused it. A flash in her eyes indicated her annoyance, despite him being her favorite slave toy the queen did not take well to distractions or improper actions. Anakin's status and her favor towards him would not protect him from a lashing, in fact, unlike with other slaves she would often take pleasure from punishing him herself as opposed to having an officer do so. For other slaves, she would even have Anakin himself administer the lashings, pleased to watch the once honorable and just Jedi stooping so low to as abandon his own principles at her word.

"My apologies, your highness," Anakin said, returning to attention.

"Don't let it happen again, my pet," She replied, "You know how much I hate to punish you." Anakin knew the exact opposite. She loved to punish him. She loved the power of being in control, of being the owner and master of a Jedi knight. She loved the feeling of having him grovel at her feet and beg for the lashings to stop and he knew that because she refused to stop doing so until he begged. It was all a testament to her power.

"Of course, your highness," His voice was tight, cold, and emotionless as he repeated the same words he had been saying for months on end, "It won't happen again, your highness.

Nodding once in approval, Miraj returned her attention the performance before them. The display, which Anakin wished he did not have to witness but was forced to regularly, was just short of being a public sex show, with naked slaves dancing, caressing, rubbing, and writhing against one another. He felt sorry for them, just as he felt sorry for himself.

Every night was the same. Just like the first night after he kneeled before the queen and vowed his loyalty in exchange for his friends' freedom, Anakin led her to her doors. She turned to him and stepped forward, too close, taking space that before only Padmé had dared enter. She would purr in his ear and tempt him to join her, but Anakin would always stoically decline. He had no desire for her. He had no desire for anyone but Padmé, but especially not for slaver scum. Once the ornate doors would close behind Miraj, Anakin would go to his own rooms. Lavishly decorated, they were still a cell.

Most nights Anakin barely had the energy to remove his armor before collapsing in his bed and succumbing to sleep, but the night he felt the change in the Force was different. For the first time since he was enslaved, Anakin mediated. Sitting in just his sleep pants and Force suppressing cuff, he crossed his legs, placed his hands on his knees, and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, Anakin centered himself and focused on the shining light that had broken through into his dull existence. Never skilled at meditation even when the Force was accessible to him, Anakin struggled to connect to the new presence. But, just as his patience was waning, there was a spark. Deep in his mind Anakin felt the brush of another, of two others, curious but inexperienced and completely untouched. Never had Anakin experienced anything so blindingly light and pure. He reached further, trying to connect more deeply with the other Force presences but just as quickly as they touched, they faded away. When Anakin came out of his trance, for some unknown reason there were tears sliding down his cheeks.


	4. i keep hoping

**WARNING: THE SECOND PART OF THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES _NON-GRAPHIC_ RAPE**

* * *

If it hadn't been for the holobroadcast playing in the background, just on to provide white noise so she could putter around without waking up the twins, Padmé wouldn't have even realized it had officially been a year. The day had started off like all her other days since giving birth and returning to Naboo, one of the twins waking up crying and as soon as she settles them down the other wakes up. She'd been so focused on the twins, of looking forward to the rapidly approaching day when they would both sleep through the night, that she didn't even realize it was the anniversary of Anakin's death.

But when the holoreporter mentioned it, mentioned a memorial service that was going to be held for him and his missing partner, Obi-wan, Padmé froze. She had been folding onesies and rolling socks as if it was a completely normal day while planets away thousands of people were gathering to mourn the husband she hadn't even had time to think of that day. A standard year had passed since Anakin died. A full year without his laugh, his glare, or his smile, that special smile he saved just for her. Her heart clenched as did her fist around the onesie in her hand. When he died she couldn't mourn, she had no right to, with their marriage still a secret. On the anniversary of his death, standing alone in her sitting room still listening for the telltale sound of one of the twins waking from their nap, Padmé realized she had no way to mourn.

Nubian mourning customs all focused on the grave, on the final resting place. Upon burial a headstone would be placed to mark the grave and every year following another rock would be added. A mark of permanence, to symbolize the impact the departed had on the galaxy and on each individual life their own had touched. Water would be poured over the grave to symbolize moving forward, letting go, and to cleanse the spirit. All these customs, which Padmé had treasured for comfort when her grandmother had passed year before, were impossible to perform. Anakin, her dear, sweet Anakin, had no grave. There was no grave, nowhere to place remembrances, no way to hold on or let go.

For just a moment, it felt as if she was losing Anakin all over again. How could he be gone? How could she be unable to mourn? The woeful thoughts rushing through Padmé's brain were quickly cut off though when, from the baby monitor, she heard the whimpers of Luke waking up.

A wave of relief rushed over Padmé. She dropped the laundry she was holding onto the back of the couch and hurried to the nursery. It was true she didn't have a grave and that she couldn't practice the comforting rhythms of Nubian grieving rituals, but she had something better than a grave. She had to living pieces of Anakin to love, to hold, and to cherish. She didn't need to mourn, not really, when she could instead hold Luke in her arms and see the same blue of Anakin's eyes or blow a raspberry against Leia' soft stomach and see the same smile. The people of Coruscant and the galaxy could go on and mourn Anakin, plaster his face on buildings again, and for a day pretend that losing him truly impacted them. Padmé wouldn't, though. On the anniversary of Anakin's death, she remembered him the same way she had for the best three months, by lifting their son out from his crib and scattering kisses across him as she carried him out of the room, leaving their daughter behind to sleep. She would mourn by living, by their children living, and by being happy, which is what he would have wanted.

* * *

The choice to return to the senate was a difficult one for Padmé. Logically, she knew it was her duty to return, to serve for the people of Naboo and her queen. But Padmé had spent her entire life performing her duties for the betterment of the galaxy, first as queen, then as senator. As a new mother she had duties, too. New responsibilities that unlike her position in the senate could not be taken over by someone else. In her heart, Padmé wanted nothing more than to stay in Naboo with the twins in the yellow colored nursery overlooking the gardens and not needing to answer to anyone, not the queen, not the citizens, and certainly not the other senators.

Her babies were growing, each day reaching a new milestone and simultaneously needing her more and needing her less. Every passing day led to something different in the twins. They were becoming more like people and less like babies. It was incredible for Padmé to watch, never being so close to someone so young on a daily basis. With her nieces' visits were sporadic, it seemed as if one day they were babies and the next they were little girls. But with the twins, every little growth and new skill they learned Padmé experienced as it happened. She had to frantically baby proof everything when they started crawling within days of each other and then go to even more extreme lengths when Luke, every inch his father's son, started pulling things he wanted towards him with the Force. Padmé was relieved Leia hadn't started exhibiting Force abilities at the same time as Luke. Although, her daughter was ahead of her age group and already mastered her first word. It was 'no' and she wouldn't stop saying it, even when she meant 'yes'. Both were laughing more, babbling more, and starting to pull themselves up to stand on their own. Soon they would figure out how to walk and Padmé knew that was when all Malachor would break loose. Their first lifeday was just a few weeks away and Padmé often found herself wondering how the time went so quickly.

In a perfect universe the twins' lifeday would be all Padmé would have to worry about. But Padmé knew the universe was far from perfect. The war was still raging on. And this Padmé also knew, that if the war continued so too would she continue to serve. Not for the greater good of the galaxy or even for the queen, but so one day her children would know a better life, a more peaceful life, than either of their parents ever lived.

* * *

Only for moments a day could Anakin find true happiness. He would seek it out each night, closing his eyes, crossing his legs, and opening his mind. Despite the restriction of the Force suppressing cuffs, Anakin had begun a ritual. After escaping from the queen's seduction each night, he would meditate, pushing past the barriers that were chained around his wrists, and reaching out towards those two blindingly bright presences. It was the only comfort he could find, the way those bright shining lights in the Force would press against his, curious and fascinated by his own presence. Often, the other Force presences would stay with him for a moment. As if whoever they were found as much comfort and safety in his signature as he did from theirs. But those moments of serenity, where the Force seemed to sing, were always fleeting.

Either the other Force presences would pull away. Not strong enough yet for sustained contact, too untrained, or some other unknown factor leading to distraction. Or the Force suppressors would become too strong. It was draining for Anakin to overcome the cuffs and prolonged use of the Force, such as his attempts every night to connect with the mystery Force users would suck away his energy. Within minutes he would have to stop, cut off the connection on his end, and succumb to exhaustion. Bypassing the Force suppressing cuffs, while the only good part of Anakin's day, was also the most taxing. Every second would pull more energy from him and often the connection would be broken abruptly by Anakin passing out. But those times, the light would seem to follow him in his dreams, giving him the only true rest he had experienced in nearly a year.

Then, in over a year.

He hadn't even realized how much time had passed until it was too late. The monotony of Anakin's life in slavery led to him standing outside Miraj's doors, just like every night before. And, what Anakin assumed, every night to come.

"I would rather die," Anakin responded to the queen's invitation to his room, "Than join you in your bed."

Her eyes narrowed at his words and something in the air shifted. The with the cuffs on his wrists Anakin was completely unprepared for her slap, her claws cutting into his cheek leaving a trail of blood and what would inevitably become three new scars below his old one. Anakin recoiled, shocked by the queen's actions.

"I have been patient, Skywalker," The queen said, venom dripping from her words, "Have I not? I have treated you well, dressing you in the finest, providing you quarters that only pale to mine, and I have kept all of my promises." As she spoke, Anakin attempted to back away, but as quickly as her claw went out to slap him, she shot out to grab him by the upper arm, her grip tighter than he would have imagined, "I have given you _time_ Skywalker, a _year_ of my time, but now that time is up. Join me."

He blinked for a moment, barely believing a full year had passed. Had it really been that long since he last was free? Since he last held his wife or saw his best friend? "No." Anakin said as he tried to pull his arm from her but the natural strength of the zygerrian held out against that of a Forceless Jedi.

Her other hand snapped up, grabbing his jaw and pulling his face close to hers. The movement pulled at the bleeding cuts across his face and Anakin had to hold in a wince at the pain. "You seem to be confused, _pet_ ," She hissed, her mouth dangerously close to his, "This is no longer a request. This is an order from your queen and it is your duty to obey." She surged forward, forcibly claiming his mouth and shoving her tongue between his lips. Anakin immediately bit down on her tongue, trying to force her away.

She broke her mouth from his, blood dripping from her tongue. There was a flash of something dark in her eyes. "You have fire, pet," She leaned forward once more, tightening her grip on his arm and snaking his other around his shoulders to pull him close against her, "This should be fun."

Anakin tried to fight against her, tried to escape, but she clicked a button on the bracelet she wore, and a strong surge of electricity came through his cuffs. He recoiled immediately but it was too late, already she was dragging him into her rooms. More electricity coursed through his body as she weakened him enough to chain him to her bed. He continued to struggle, he continued to scream, but it was to no avail. The sound of the ornate doors slamming shut behind them sounded like a jail cell closing and the call of a judge ordering an execution, all at once.


	5. hey, don't act surprised

**A/N:** **I know it's been forever since I updated and I apologize! I'm currently a second semester undergrad senior so I've been incredibly be busy. But in honor of Star Wars Day yesterday and my rapidly approaching graduation (which means I will have more time to write!), I decided to post this today. Thank you for patience and I promise this fic is not abandoned.**

* * *

Nothing could have prepared Padmé, or any of the other senators for that matter, for the mayhem that would erupt in the senate after the death of Count Dooku. If anything, she would have expected celebrations, not the fury that filled the room. Although, it wasn't Dooku's death that caused the outrage, panic, and fighting. It was what his death revealed. Because, caught on footage by an out of sight holoreporter's camera, was Chancellor Palpatine, with a lightsaber, killing Dooku in cold blood. A lightsaber that was the Chancellor's own, not Dooku's, a Jedi's, or anyone else's.

The footage showed, hidden by a dark and heavy cape, Dooku had walked directly in the Chancellor's office as if he belonged there, in the heart of the Republic he was so viciously fighting against. When he removed his cloak, revealing himself to Palpatine, instead of calling for help as would be expected, the Chancellor rose and shook Dooku's hand, greeting him. The footage of the encounter had no sound but it was clear the men were on amicable terms at the very least, that was until Dooku dropped to a knee, bowing before Palpatine. He said something while deep in the bow and the look on Palpatine's face morphed from that of a smug master to a fury filled look of betrayal. In a smooth motion, Dooku drew his lightsaber and lunged for the Chancellor. Again, Palpatine did not call for help. Instead, he pulled out his own lightsaber, as blazing red as every other sith saber. The blades clashed together. Both seemed to be equally skilled as they almost danced around the office, where one would swipe, the other would duck. But then, it seemed as if Palpatine grew tired of the stalemate. He Force threw Dooku across the room before bombarding him with lightning. As Dooku writhed in pain, electricity coursing through his body, Palpatine swiped his lightsaber down, severing Dooku's head. For good measure, he stabbed his lightsaber into Dooku's torso and, for a moment, stood over his apprentice's dead body, smiling.

The footage was leaked as soon as the murder happened, even before Palpatine had time to disengage his lightsaber and pull it out of the smoldering hole in what was once Dooku's chest. Jedi masters were at the senate doors before Palpatine even knew his secret identity was revealed. His secret identity being the fact that he was Darth Sidious, the mastermind behind the Separatists and, as the footage revealed, the person who engineered a galactic war from both ends. As the Jedi dealt with containing the Sith Lord, Padmé stood in her pod, attempting to deal with the thousands of terrified and furious senators.

"My fellow senators," Padmé's voice boomed across the open atrium of the senate chambers as her pod moved forward. For the first time since the footage leaked, broadcast for the entire senate while in session, the other voices fell quiet, "I know that this is a trying time. Our trusted advisor and leader has been revealed to be our greatest enemy and we are at a loss. But that does not mean we can allow ourselves to panic! The sentients of the galaxy are looking towards us and it is our _duty_ to control our emotions and keep the senate moving forward. We need to work together to instate a interim Chancellor, without the additional powers that were granted to Palpatine, until the time an election can be conducted, we need to reach out to the Separatists to bring this war to an end, and we must maintain our resolve as we do so!" Her words echoed across a nearly deadly silent room as the other senators absorbed what she said. Then, stating with her fellow Senator Mon Mothma, applause started.

As the crowds of democratic representative cheered for her, Padmé did not notice the pod for the Alderaani system pull forward until Bail Organa's deep voice cut through the cheers, "I would like to nominate Senator Padmé Amidala of the System of Naboo for the position of Interim Chancellor!"

"I second that movement!" Mon Mothma declared. Within quick succession numerous senators, including ones who prior to that moment were fierce opponents of Padmé and her ideologies, yelled their support for Padmé. She had no idea how to react. But, she no matter what, she did feel satisfaction. The war that had plagued the galaxy, taken her husband from her, and destroyed billions of lives over the course of the previous four years had finally ended.

* * *

"Congratulations, m'lady," Eraan greeted as Padmé came into the door. Leia was in his arms, wailing at the top of her lungs as she tried to get out of taking her nightly bath. Hired as the twins' nanny upon the family's return to Coruscant, Eraan had become a necessary facet in Padmé's daily life. Her handmaidens had enough strife to deal with tending to her, Padmé couldn't subject them to being responsible for the twins to the extent that she needed.

Padmé shook her head, "Please don't, Eraan, it's been such a long day." With practiced ease, Padmé lifted Leia from the nanny's arms. The toddler stilled immediately, blinking at her mother in confusion for a moment, before resuming her wails, this time crying for her mother to not force her into the bath. Hearing the change in Leia's cries, Luke's unsteady steps soon sounded from the hall as he hurried from the playroom to greet his mother. "I'm not sure if I will even accept the nomination. It's all happening very fast."

As she spoke, Luke hurried into the room and latched onto his mother's legs, hugging her desperately. Padmé smiled down at him, "Hello, Luke." He grinned at her acknowledgement and tightened his arms around her. Walking carefully as so not to hurt Luke, Padmé moved down the hallway to the fresher, Leia still throwing a tantrum in her arms. Eraan followed after her, prepared to help with the twins' bath. Luke went into the tub easily, happily playing with his rubber submersible model. As the nanny scrubbed at Luke's hair, playing along with whatever game the little boy played, Padmé had just managed to get Leia into the bath. While Leia was no longer screaming, she had a grimace on her face and was grumbling, as much as was capable for a one and a half year old.

"If it's alright for me to ask," Eraan started and both knew that even if it wasn't alright to ask, he was going to anyways, "Why wouldn't you accept the nomination. Chancellor? Isn't that what your career, your life, has been leading up to?"

Padmé shrugged as she placed a small scoop of bubbles on Leia's nose, finally getting her daughter to smile and splash in the tub, "Maybe two years ago, yes, I would have jumped at the chance. But with the twins? Being Chancellor, even interim chancellor, would take so much time from them. I think I would be happy just remaining an ordinary member of a senate and being able to come home every night to wrestle somebody into the fresher." Her finally words were emphasized as she tickled Leia, eliciting giggles from her daughter.

Even though she told Bail, the members of the senate, and Eraan that she was considering the position, Padmé knew then, sitting on her fresher floor with her gowns half-wet and two laughing toddlers, she was not going to accept the position. There were others equally or, in some cases, even more qualified than her to take the interim position. For once in her life, with the conflict over, Padmé was comfortable enough to say that her life at home was more important than her life serving the people.

* * *

"Prove to me the strength of the Jedi," Miraj's voice echoed around the arena. Her command, while directed at Anakin, caused the already excited crowds to roar. In the center of the arena stood Anakin. It was that spot where he last saw his friends, when after watching their struggles against the electric lashes of the slavers he knew he would do anything to keep the safe and free, even if it meant losing those luxuries himself. But that was, in so many ways, a lifetime ago.

The last time Anakin stood on that platform, surrounded by spectators yearning to be entertained, he had been there to protect. This time, though, he was the entertainment. In some ways, be it the war of the crowd, the anticipation of the fight to come, or simply the sandy, dusty tones of the arena, Anakin was reminded of Geonosis. Of Padmé. Of her confession of love moments away from death. And it was the thought of her that had put Anakin in the center of Zygerrian arena. Miraj, scheming, manipulative, Miraj, had figured out Anakin's love for his wife, and, by promising him news of her, had forced him to agree to the spectacle of a gladiator fight.

One Jedi against ten of Zygerria's strongest warriors to prove who really was the best. The last one standing, the last one breathing, would be the champion. Even with the Force suppressing cuffs still on his wrists, Anakin knew he would win the fight. Ten Zygerrians against the strongest Jedi Knight and his lightsaber? It was nearly child's play in Anakin's mind. And even if the fight wasn't guaranteed easy, Anakin was still sure he would win, he would do anything to hear about Padmé. With that final thought, news of his love, Anakin tightened his grip on his lightsaber and moved into position, ready for the queen to call the battle's beginning.

In all his time training to be a Jedi, Anakin had been told the importance of clearing one's mind. He had never been able to accomplish that task, to remove emotions from the equation of battle and just simply _be_ , but in his new existence on Zygerria, he found the task easy. Anakin would, close his eyes, take steadying breaths, think for a second of those two bright lights in the Force, and then release everything. By the time he would open his eyes, usually mere seconds later, he would be perfectly centered, balanced in a way he had never been able to do, always too busy thinking about what's next. On Zygerria, whatever came next was usually worse than the moment so Anakin was learning to connect with the moment.

He followed the pattern, close eyes, breathe, focus, as the ten Zygerrian fighters charged at him. His eyes flashed open the same moment his lightsaber slashed out, cutting down the first two fighters in an instant. Anakin seemed to almost float as he darted between fighters, some he knocked down, hoping to avoid killing, and some he parried with. Each time he tried to spare of fighter they would attack him more ferociously, it felt to Anakin as if they were practically _asking_ for his blade. Eventually, with each Zygerrian, he had to concede and kill them, no matter how injured they were, they would continue to fight him. By the end, he was the last one standing. The final Zygerrian, the only one who he had not been forced to kill as of then, was kneeling before him. Anakin glanced up to the queen's box and saw her tilt her chin. In the motion, Anakin recognized her order for him to kill. Looking her directly in the eye, Anakin defiantly disengaged his lightsaber. Sparing the final life.

As Anakin stalked away from the remaining fighter, the queen's voice once more boomed around the arena as she ordered a guard to finish what Anakin had failed to do, "Kill him."

Anakin's heart sank. As a slave, even his acts of mercy meant nothing. Once in the tunnel system of the arena other slaves were surrounding him, tending to his wounds, and preparing to bring him to the queen's chambers where she requested to meet him. Anakin felt, as the blood of the dead was scrubbed from his body by foreign hands, hopeful. He had done it. He had succeeded just like he knew he would. And for the first time in two years, Anakin was finally going to hear about Padmé, maybe even see a holo of her if the Force, for once, was on his side.

* * *

He stood completely still in the direct center of Miraj's bedroom. She was reclining across her bed, spread out across her luxurious sheets in a way, Anakin assumed, was meant to be seductive. Nothing she did could seduce him, nothing about her was attractive to him, she was slaver scum and every time she touched him, he felt sick. Which was why, for that moment, as she tried to lure him into her bed, he refused to move. "Not until you tell me what you promised," Anakin said, his tone neutral.

The queen narrowed her eyes, glaring at him, "Are you refusing me, Skywalker?" She tightened her claws around the comforter below her, almost daring him to talk back to her, "You know what happens when you misbehave, pet."

Anakin knew well what happened when he disobeyed the queen. Ever since that first night in her bedroom he was forced back every night, or at least most nights for sometimes she called other suitors. If he spoke back, disrespected her, or fought her, he would be tortured. She took joy out of it, out of bringing the great Jedi knight Anakin Skywalker to his knees before her, wrapped in electric whips and begging for the pain to stop. After months of it, Anakin had decided fighting back was not worth it. Except now. Except when she had promised information about Padmé that she still had not given him. "No, your majesty, I would never refuse. I'm just," He paused thinking of the right word, "Withholding myself until you keep up your end of the bargain. I fought for information on my wife," His voice caught for a second, how Miraj learned about their marriage he would never know, but the fact that she held it over his head, reminding him so often that his nights with her broke his vow to Padmé, was the worst form of torture he had ever experience, "And since I fought and won, I will not be joining you tell me about Padmé."

"I don't understand what is so special about her." As Miraj spoke she rose from her bed. Grabbing a nearby datapad she angrily typed through it, "Yes, she is pretty, for a human at least, but what is she compared to me? A senator? Ha. A former elected queen? She's nothing compared to me. She's nothing compared to _you_ , pet. Why her-"

Miraj was cut off by Anakin's hand around her throat. He was vibrating with rage, "Watch your tongue, highness." She smirked at him, despite struggling to breathe. The queen always seemed happy to see his rage and anger. That thought alone caused him to release his grip, he hated the pleasure she got from his darkness. He hated the fact that he had darkness to begin with. Anakin took a staggering step back, as if the fire that spurned his own actions had burned him.

"You might not like what I say, pet," Miraj said as she handed him a piece of flimsi, a picture pulled up to show him, "But I speak the truth. You meant as little to her as she should have to you. See here? She's already forgotten you." Anakin studied the image on the flimsi in disbelief. It was a picture of Padmé, happy, smiling, dressed down in public in a way Anakin had never seen before, holding a baby in her arms. Beside her was an attractive man, dark hair, dark eyes, and in his arms was another baby that he was holding up for Padmé to see. The babies looked young, they couldn't have been any older than six months. Studying the picture, Anakin drank in all the details. Padmé looked more beautiful than ever. She seemed to be shining. But on her finger was a ring and in her arms was a baby.

"I'm glad," Anakin said, looking up from the picture to speak to the queen. His words were honest, surprising even himself, "If I can't be with her, if I'm trapped here forever, I want her to be happy. I want her to move on."

"But now there's no need for you to maintain loyalty, no? You can be mine."

Anakin shook his head, "I'm still her husband and you will always disgust me." Miraj struck him and ripped the flimsi, spreading the shreds across the room. She hissed at him to leave and Anakin was all too willing to comply. With the toe of his boot, Anakin managed to push a scrap of the picture out of the room with him, on it was Padmé's smiling face and the man she was leaning close to. He slipped it into his pocket, for safekeeping. It was all he had of her.


	6. strictly business, nothing more

**A/N: Guess who's back, back, back, back again. My hyperfixation with star wars is back, back, back, call a friend.**

 **ANYWHO, I realize it's been forever and a day since this fic was updated. That said, I will be finishing it this time! Just as I promised!**

* * *

Numerous times throughout Padmé's life she had been sure she found true happiness. When she was young and thought she was madly in love with Palo, when the votes came in and she was elected queen, and most significantly, and the closest she ever came, was standing on the balcony at Varykino bathed in the golden light of the setting sun and professing her love and commitment to Anakin. All of those moments paled in comparison to any given second with the twins, even when they were at the worst. But at that moment, they were far from their worst.

It was a lazy Benduday, the one day a week the offices and schools were closed, and just like every other standard week, the Skywalkers were cuddled up in bed together. Luke's head was pressed against her shoulder, his favorite toy, a model of the Delta-7 Jedi fighter complete with Anakin's paint job, in his hand as he pretended to make it fly. The little noises he made that imitate a space battle vibrated against the spot on Padmé's neck where Luke rested. One of her arms was around him and she pulled him tighter, pressing a kiss against his hair. Her other arm was around Leia who held the control for the holotv and was aggressively clicking through the channels looking for something, although Padmé wasn't entirely sure what. Leaning over, Padmé also pressed a kiss to the top of Leia's head, in response her daughter snuggled a little closer but didn't stop flipping through the different holochannels.

Maybe later they would go to the park or out to lunch at the twins' favorite restaurant. They had the entire day ahead of them. But for that moment, on an ordinary Benduday morning, doing what they did every week before, for as long as Luke and Leia could remember, Padmé was sure she knew what true happiness was.

Padmé was just beginning to contemplate getting out of bed so the three of them could get lunch, which usually meant at least another hour cuddling and not moving, when the doorbell sounded. It had become custom for all the handmaidens to have the day off on Benduday since Padmé never needed their assistance with ornate gowns on those days. Eraan also had the day off, Padmé often joked about it being the one day a week he was free from the twin menaces. Alone with no one but C3-P0 to answer the door, Padmé reluctantly climbed out of bed.

"Mommy stay." Luke whined, looking away from his model ship. Leia barely noticed her moving, she simply slid deeper into the bed, focused on the children's show she had eventually settled on watching.

"Mommy will be back in just a tik," Padmé responded, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "And then we can go out for lunch and sweets."

At the sound of sweets, Leia broke away from the holotv to look at her mother. Although she was just short of turning two and a half, Leia had mastered the art of calculated gazes. Padmé often mused that the stare had to be genetic, since both she and Anakin were just as skilled at similar glares. Leia narrowed her eyes and scrutinized her mother's expression, trying to discern some hidden intent behind the offer of sweets, "Promise?"

Padmé laughed lightly at her daughter's intensity, pressed a kiss to her head of messy curls and replied, "Promise."

As she left her bedroom Padmé slipped on a dressing gown to cover her pajamas. She closed the door behind her, the twins were already back to their own devices, Leia half hypnotized by the holotv and Luke reenacting a space battle. The soft smile that Padmé always wore amidst sweet moments with the twins was worn up until she opened the door. It took all Padmé's political training on proper reactions to stop her jaw from dropping at the sight the Jedi Grandmaster patiently waiting outside her front door.

"Master Yoda," She instinctively tightened her robe as she spoke, Padmé had never felt completely comfortable around Yoda, something about him always seemed to leave her off balance, "This is quite the surprise. Won't you come in?"

"Pleased to see you, I am." Yoda said as he hobbled in, "A long time, it has been, Senator Skywalker."

Padmé directed him to the sitting area and replied, "Professionally I still use my Nubian title of Amidala." A voice in the back of Padmé's head told her that of course Yoda already knew which name she went by. Using her married name Yoda wanted to remind her of Anakin or her strained relation with the Jedi order since the news of their marriage broke, for what reason Padmé was unsure. Taking a seat on one of her couches, Padmé turned to the still standing master. She made sure to sit tall, with her chin tilted just so to establish an atmosphere of professionalism that was otherwise lacking in her private sitting room while she wore only a dressing gown and pajamas. When talking with Yoda, she spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. "While it is lovely to see, I am curious as to why you are here today, Master, and not visiting me at my senatorial offices on another, more work appropriate, day."

"Here I am, because senate related, this is not." Yoda let out one of his unnerving little chuckles as he spoke.

"Well then, I'm not sure how much assistance I could be to you," Padmé responded as respectfully as possible.

"About the twins, I am here," Yoda said.

Abruptly, Padmé rose from her seat. The moment Yoda mentioned the twins she understood why he was there. The Jedi had decided it was time to take the twins into the order. They were the right age, they were incredibly force sensitive, and they were the children of the chosen one. It all made sense. It had been mentioned before, casually, but Padmé had made it clear she was against it. "I think you should leave." Padmé said, a steely tone to her voice.

Yoda hit his gimmer stick on the ground once to emphasize his response, "Important, this is, Senator. Strong in the Force, your children are. Trained, they must be."

"No," Padmé responded, all diplomacy gone from voice, "Luke and Leia will _not_ be trained."

"Their destiny, it is."

"Kriff destiny! Destiny kriffed Anakin over and we both know it! They are children, _my_ children, and they will _not_ become Jedi."

Yoda shook his head and hemmed, "High, their midichlorian counts are. Take them, we will, if we must."

"If you take my children there will be a bill in the senate calling for the end of the Jedi order before you blink and I promise you, that bill will pass."

"Unreasonable, you are being, Senator."

"Unreasonable?" Padmé scoffed, "Unreasonable is the order separating children from their mothers. Unreasonable is the order forbidding connections, forbidding emotions. Raising my children myself is not unreasonable. Now, _Master_ " She said the honorific with such disdain it might as well have been an insult, "I think it is best you leave." She motioned for the door, making it clear that she would not lead him to it despite that being custom of a hostess for a guest, "I had made it clear to you before that Luke and Leia would not to be joining the Jedi. If this is not the final time this topic is breached I will be forced to take legal action and I promise you that you would live to regret that."

As he walked across the room, Yoda shook his head in both shame and disappointment. Padmé managed to remain standing tall as he left, but the moment the door closed she took a stumbling step back towards the couch and collapsed. She buried her face in her hands and stifled a sob, knowing the twins probably already felt tension in the Force from the argument and not wanting them to feel her sadness, too. She felt exhausted and enraged, so full of emotions that crying seemed to be the only emotional outlet. The Jedi Order had cost Padmé her husband and were still audacious enough to demand she hand them over her only children. But she had been honest with Yoda, if they tried again, she would make sure that the Grandmaster would spend the rest of his life in the abysmal jail cell beside Palpatine's own prison.

* * *

It was one of those days, the type of days that every cell in Anakin's body seemed to be coded with self-disgusted. One of those days when, as he made eye contact with people, or more likely avoided eye contact with them, he knew that they saw him in the same light as he saw the queen, as their slaver, as the cause of their suffering. The whip in his hand felt more like shackles than the cuffs binding him ever could. Nothing made it more painfully clear to Anakin that he was a slave, that his freedom was just a distant memory, than the days Miraj forced him out to the quarries to be an overseer. The nights after being in the quarry were always the hardest. Miraj would want a full report and as he spoke, she would trail her hands along his body, taking pleasure out of his psychological torture. And it was torture. Everything he said had to be true, she'd have guards and other slavers confirm it. If he lied about a single lash, he would be beaten in return. Which meant, no matter how disgusted he was with his own actions, Anakin _had_ to beat the slaves. But each time he lashed a slave Anakin felt the same scars he left on their back forming on his heart and searing his soul.

Punishing the Togruta slaves was the worst for Anakin's psyche. There would always be a flash of recognition, they would know who he was, the hero with no fear, the one who was meant to rescue them. And then that recognition would turn to hatred and despair when he would whip them and they would realize, _no_ , he wasn't there to save them, he was there to keep them as slaves. Anakin would try not to look at their faces. Meeting their eyes, seeing the hope, that was so rare in the first place, fade to bitterness hurt more than any of the lashes he had ever felt.

One said Togruta was starting to slow in her work as Anakin passed by, the cut stones she was supposed to be pulling dragging behind her at a unsatisfactory pace, but it was not her work ethic that caught his attention as he passed by. It was her chains that piqued his interest. Most slaves, even the strongest, would only have one form of shackles, either a shock collar around the neck or chains binding the wrists. The young Togruta, who had all but stopped her workload, was no older than twenty, her montrals still not fully grown, not only had electronic cuffs on her wrists but also a force suppressing collar around her neck. The more Anakin stared, the less the slave girl worked, until both were completely still. And when their eyes met, it was more shocking than a Zygerrian whip to the back. He gasped, "Ahsoka?"

It was impossible, Anakin tried to convince himself. It couldn't be Ahsoka. The only reason he had spent three years as the pet to the slaver scum queen was because Ahsoka was safe. He had agreed because Ahsoka wouldn't have to suffer. But there she was, standing before him, shackled down and wearied. He could see it in her eyes. The fact that she had been a slave since they last saw each other. The queen had lied. Anger started to bubble as his thoughts spiraled but all his rage halted and faded to anguish at the sound of Ahsoka's voice.

"Master," Ahsoka said, her voice deeper than it was when they last spoke. It had been three years, Anakin had to tell himself, she was eighteen now, of course her voice was deeper.

"Don't," Anakin held out his hand, stopping her, "Please don't call me that. I-" Whatever Anakin was going to say was cut off by a Zygerrian slave master noticing the halt in work.

"You there!" He barked, "What do you think you're doing?" His whip was already in his hand, the golden electric glow prepared to punish Ahsoka. When Anakin turned to the Zygerrian he stopped. His blue eyes flashed a dangerous warning, commanding the Zygerrian to stop. Despite being a slave, Anakin held a higher rank due to the queen's favors. "Sir Skywalker, I apologize, I didn't realize-"

Anakin shook his head. "Hold your tongue before I do it for you," he said, "Have this Togruta cleaned up and brought to my chambers. I have some… matters to take care of with her."

A smirk curved at the corners of the Zygerrian's mouth. The slaver took the bait, assuming that Anakin wanted Ahsoka was a bedside companion. "I see you like them young," He said, moving forward to grasp Ahsoka's chin in his hand, "I'll have her prepared for you, sir."

"And leave her unharmed as you do so," Anakin warned, "I would hate have to tell the queen about any of your failures."

"Right away sir," The Zygerrian replied, a claw instantly around Ahsoka's upper arm as he pulled her away.

* * *

She was crying even before they were hugging. Anakin wasn't sure if he had ever seen Ahsoka cry. Despite spending a year in a warzone with her, despite her being barely a teenager as people tried to killer her, despite being side by side as their friends died, up until they were striding across his bedroom, his slave quarters, Anakin had never seen her cry. But they had never really hugged before, either, and definitely not as desperately as they were clinging to each other, like a parent and child separated for too long. Anakin pulled her tighter to him, only realizing as he pressed his face against the dip between her montrals, and god was that harder than before since she had grown so much, that he was crying, too. She was his padawan, his daughter in every way that mattered, no matter what the Jedi code said. It was his job to protect her and he had failed.

It took a while, Anakin wasn't entirely sure how long, but the last golden rays of the sun were just fading away and leading into night, before they had both calmed down enough to break apart their hug. It was getting late and Anakin knew the queen would be furious if he did not join her for dinner and their nightly private time but he was willing to take whatever punishment she doled if it meant he could spend even another second with his padawan. When their tears had finally dried, Anakin led Ahsoka to sit on his bed, side by side. It was a familiar comfort, similar to so many nights in the temple or on a ship, Ahsoka reaching out to him for guidance and him turning to her as a way to care.

"I don't understand," Ahsoka said, she was wringing her hands together as they sat in her lap, she was staring intently at her twisting fingers and, despite sitting directly beside Anakin, seemed distant."

Anakin shook his head and fought of a new batch of tears as he replied, "I'm so sorry, Ahsoka. This is all my fault."

"Don't you dare blame yourself Ma-," Instinctively, Ahsoka jumped in to defend him, even from himself, but she stuttered at the word master, neither of them comfortable using it anymore, "Skyguy." Anakin's heart warmed at the nickname, "None of this is your fault. It's the queen's fault, the fault of all the slavers, this kriffing planet and their shameful slave trade. But not yours Anakin."

"I agreed to stay," Anakin's voice was tight as he spoke, ashamed to tell Ahsoka the truth of what happened, "To not fight, to be by the queen's side no matter what in whatever way she wanted. I agreed to be her slave, or her partner on better days, if it meant you would be safe. She said she'd let you go. All three of you. That you would be free if I stayed."

"She lied."

Anakin glared at Ahsoka, but only for a second. He was more angry with himself than with his padawan for pointing out the truth. "I know that now," He snapped, "I wish I knew sooner." He looked at Ahsoka, their eyes meeting for a moment before she went back to watching her own hands, "Why didn't I know sooner."

She spoke softly as she told Anakin about the past three years in slavery. The last Anakin had seen her had been after the fight in the arena when their plan had failed. Anakin had assumed, after his agreement with the queen, that whatever cages Ahsoka, Rex, and Obi-wan were kept in were unlocked and the three were freed, but that wasn't what happened. Instead, they were sent to a work camp to be broken. It took months to break the three of them down enough that they would be compliant slaves. Rex was the first to go, straight to the mines to work. Ahsoka had last seen him three months before, he had moved up in the slave ranks and was managing other slaves. Obi-wan was kept in the slave camp, made to break other slaves for the enjoyment of the Zygerrian masters. She hadn't seen him in two years. But it was Ahsoka's story that hurt Anakin the most. She had been sold to a Zygerrian, Maalich Lyaal. She worked as his entertainer, exotic dancing, sometimes more. She had only been sixteen. Anakin wanted to vomit. But Lyaal's tastes ran young and when Ahsoka turned eighteen, just five months before, she had been sold to a mining company and placed in the quarries. Which was how Anakin found her that day.

Once Ahsoka was done telling her story, Anakin took her hands into his own, making her look up at him, "I'm going to do what I should have done years ago. I'm going to fix this, Ahsoka."

"We're going to fix this, Skyguy," She tightened her grip, holding his hands fast, and for the first time since reuniting, they both smiled. "We're a team." In that moment, as the afternoon gave way to evening, two broken Jedi began to heal and, for the first time, hope was born on Zygerria. A revolution was being born.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Interest comes and goes in waves and for awhile I just did not have the desire to write Star Wars fanfic. Well that desire is back and it's first job is to finish this fanfic! It's almost there. Don't worry.**

 **To anybody who was hoping an update from me would be on my Timeless fic, like I said, interest comes and goes and I've been struggling writing it recently.**


	7. when a saint walked in

The grey clouds swirling in the atmosphere below appeared sinister, but the ominous nature of the view could have just as easily be imagined due to the uncomfortable reality of being the first outsiders to step on Zygerria since the tumultuous slave revolt six months earlier. The inaction and disregard of the Galactic Senate, and the Republic as a whole, to the plight of those entrapped by the inter-planetary Zygerrian slave trade had seemingly forced the hand of a small group of enslaved warriors. Leaders of the slave rebellion cut off all inter-planetary travel and communications in and out of Zygerria. For five months the Galactic Republic knew nothing about the uprising other than the fact that it had begun. At the start of the uprising, Padmé spoke on before the Senate, urging them to let situation play out without interference. Her argument left little room for discussion, if the Senate could ignore slavery on Zygerria, then it had to ignore a revolution. With Padmé's words, the Senate did not act. The uprising was important to Padmé, despite the lack of information, all because of a wide-eyed little boy who was a person, not a slave, and his two children, her children, who were first generation freed.

Com channels suddenly reopened, months after the start of the rebellion, with a message sent directly to the Senate, requesting a representative to come planetside, to offer relief assistance to the now freed slaves, and to facilitate the entrance of the newly liberated planet into the Galactic Republic. Rumors spread quickly that the queen had been executed, for she would never allow such actions. But Zygerrian communications control refused to yield additional information, they just repeated their request for a Republic representative.

The Senate was at a standstill, some systems arguing that the instigators of the uprising were terrorists and that the Galactic Senate cannot begin a precedent of making deals with such instigators of violence and unrest. Others argued that the slave revolt was simply intra-planet governing and that if they were now requesting to join the Republic it was their duty to the galaxy to accept their application. Again, Padmé was the first in line to argue on behalf of the freed slaves. But no matter what she said, there remained a divide in the Senate body. Arguing over what course of action to take led to the continuation of the infamous inaction of the Senate. After a month without any agreements or decisions, the suggestion was put forth that the representative requested does go to Zygerria to evaluate the situation and then return to the Senate with a full report of the status of the planet. Further decisions towards the future of Zygerria would come after the report.

It was that belated decision that led to the ominous feeling as the swirling clouds swallowed the lowering starship. Only three people were aboard the ship, two bodyguards and the Senator who volunteered to represent the Republic, Padmé. All three of them were aware of the tense air in the ship, all three were nervous. Landing procedures were done in total silence, which continued once the starship was safely on the ground. As the ship's ramp lowered the three took their positions naturally, Padmé, wearing an efficient jumpsuit in case the situation on the ground was more dangerous than anticipated and a dark blue dress cloak to maintain a semblance of formality, took the front, her two armor clad guards flanked her sides. Waiting at the bottom of the ramp was a welcoming party and the unknown.

Headed by the so-called general behind the slave revolt, the Zygerrian greeters stood a few meters away from the bottom of the senator's ramp. It was a crowd of fifteen or so sentients, a mix of native Zygerrians and other species. At the front of the group stood a tall human man, his features hidden by a traditional Zygerrian helmet, his arms were crossed on this chest and his stance wide, he exuded strength and leadership. Padmé assumed he was meant to be intimidating but having faced opponents ranging from a wild nexu to a cold and calculating Sith Lord, there was very little in the galaxy that could scare her.

As Padmé exited the star craft, the general stepped forward, arms still crossed. But the instant Padmé's face became clear his body language changed dramatically. His entire body tensed for a moment and his arms fell to the side, limp. He took a few shaky steps forward as his hand, which Padmé belatedly noticed was cybernetic, was lifted to his helmet. For a split second Padmé thought she was dead because what she was seeing was _impossible_ because _he_ was dead. Anakin had been dead for the past four years. There was no possible way he could be standing before her. But there he was, his helmet falling from his hands and landing to the ground with an unheard clunk. His blue eyes were as clear as the day they met, with unshed tears brimming at the edges, his golden hair was longer than she had ever seen, tied back with loosely, preventing it from falling well past his shoulders like it should. Stunned, Padmé walked towards him. She was unaware of moving, she seemed to glide across the ground like a mythical angel as a magnetic force pulled her towards him. He walked towards her with determined strides. They stopped, so close that their heaving chests were nearly touching with each breath.

There was so much in that single moment. So many possibilities and losses and dreams come true and unfulfilled wishes. There was so much Padmé wanted to do, to wrap her arms around him, to slap him, to kiss him, to skip it all and tell him about their beautiful twins, to tell him she loved him because what if he disappeared, _died_ , again before she had the chance to say it? There was too much in that moment and so they both remained frozen, breathing deeply, and holding eye contact.

Padmé lifted a delicate hand towards his cheek, not quite touching him, as if scared to do so would break the spell and prove that the moment was just a figment of her imagination. "You have a new scar," She whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion.

"I've got more than one," He replied, softly, "I figured that I might as well start a collection," Spurred on by the sound of his voice, Padmé moved her hand forward and cupped his cheek, her palm covering the unfamiliar claw scars and her thumb tracing the bottom of the old scar across his eye.

Without warning a sob escaped Padmé, wracking her body as she slid to her knees before Anakin. He was alive. Her husband was _alive_. After _years_ believing him dead, Padmé couldn't process her emotions. But then she wasn't alone anymore. Familiar arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush to his chest. In an instant, acting on her natural instinct, she threw her arms around him. Her fingers slid into the crevices of his armor as she clung to him, her bodyguards and the Zygerrians watching on were completely forgotten. Anakin's familiar hands trailed her body, twisting through her hair and rubbing her back, arms, any part of her he could touch, as if the moment he lost contact she would disappear. With her face buried against Anakin's armor, Padmé only realized he was crying with her when the tears fell across her neck.

* * *

He was never going to let go. Never. It didn't matter that in the back of his mind he knew that Padmé had moved on, that she was with someone else. It didn't matter that she had a family and a life entirely without him. What mattered was that she was in his arms, sobbing, clinging to him, and as long as she wanted to be in his arms, he would never let go.

Watching her step off her spacecraft and onto Zygerria had been surreal. Out of the thousands of senators, she was the one who was sent. He had come to the landing platform with a plan, he was going to intimidate the senator, keep his face hidden and then, once the demands the freed people had for the senate were met, reveal who he was. Obi-Wan had told him the plan was far from diplomatic and overly dramatic, but Anakin insisted that he needed to be treated as the leader of the former slaves and not a long-lost Jedi. He was their leader, he and Ahsoka had created the uprising, they were the strategists and generals behind the revolt, and they were the reason why slavery no longer had a place on Zygerria. He was responsible for those he had led, and he had to meet the representative as a freed slave and rebel.

Anakin's carefully crafted plan fell apart as soon as his eyes fell on Padmé. She was more beautiful than he remembered, her back straight and head held high in the graceful manner she always carried in diplomatic situations. Instead of demanding the republic take action to end slavery everywhere in the known galaxy, not just among their own planets, instead of glaring down the representative as the mysterious killer of the Zygerrian queen, Anakin slowly took of his helmet. Diplomacy didn't matter. His plan didn't matter. All that mattered was her. Was that she was there. So, he pulled off his helmet and wrapped her in his arms, the rest of the world, the rest of the galaxy, be damned.

All his focus was on her. Anakin didn't hear Obi-Wan's suggestion to give them space or the weak arguments from her confused guards. He didn't hear Ahsoka lean over to Rex and tell him that she knew it all along or Rex's reply that it was obvious. He didn't hear the footsteps of the freed slaves trudging away, following Obi-wan somewhere distant. All that mattered was Padmé caressing his cheeks, tracing the claw marks below his old scar, before burying her face tightly in the crook of his neck. All he heard was Padmé's teary whisper of, "I thought you were dead."

He tightened his hold of her, not sure what to say. He owed her an explanation, apologies, something to fill the emptiness she must have felt. Because she had to have felt more than empty if he was walking shell being separated from her, he couldn't imagine what she felt believing him to be dead. "I don't know what to say," He confessed.

Padmé shook her head, but kept it pressed close to his shoulder, "You don't have to say anything, Ani, just hold me, please, like so long ago by the lake on Naboo."

* * *

All of the plans, a tour through the Zygerrian slums to show the conditions slaves had been living in and how their lives were already improving, a diplomatic dinner to discuss the Republic's weak stance on slave laws, and, if all went well, his eventual reveal, pulling off his helmet and showing the delegate that he was the long lost Hero With No Fear, was forgotten. It was pushed to the side. The copious amounts of food for the dinner, which Anakin had argued was garish considering they would be discussing equality over it and a countless number of the freed slaves were still hungry due to shortages but Obi-Wan insisted was necessary to show respect to a visiting dignitary, was given out to the masses. The leaders of the revolt, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Rex, a handful of liberal Zygerrians and now freed slaves, spoke with Padmé's bodyguards and explained the situation, before sitting down to put together a new diplomatic plan. It was difficult for them, because the head of it all, Anakin, was not with them. Instead, for the first time in four years, he was alone with his wife.

Anakin secreted Padmé away to his quarters. But it wasn't secreted, he had to tell himself, for the first time in the entirety of their relationship, their time together as husband and wife wasn't a secret. He was thankful that he had moved rooms after the revolt. Picturing Padmé within his slave quarters was almost a nightmare, it was a hell she didn't belong. In his new quarters, she fit. Padmé sat on his bed, her legs tucked below her, a familiar position that Anakin had longed to see for so long, the way she would fold in on herself when she perched at the foot of their bed. He was thankful, too, for the fact that he had declined the rooms of the former queen, it had been suggested that he took them, as a gesture to show he was the new head of the planet, but Anakin declined. Living in the castle was one thing but living in her ostentatious quarters where he was repeatedly violated was out of the question. Instead, he took the room beside hers, it had formerly housed the head of her security team. It was a good size, about a quarter of Padmé's bedroom on Coruscant and had a beautiful view over the recovering planet. Anakin needed nothing more than that.

"There's so much we need to talk about," Padmé said from where she sat folded beside Anakin, "I don't even know where to start." As she spoke, Padmé held Anakin's flesh hand in both of hers. She traced the contours of his hands, pausing at a new scar or a familiar freckle. It felt like a dream, her being beside him. It was a dream he had had so many times. But in his dreams, when she was on his bed there was little talking, just kissing, and caressing, and making love. Which was how he knew she was really there, the feel of her hands and the sound of her voice could be imagined, but the request to talk, for talking would lead to the topic of her new husband, the one Miraj had shown him holos of, would only happen in reality.

"I guess," Padmé said, uncertainty lacing her voice and reverberating through the Force, "This would be the place to start." Her formal cloak long since discarded, Padmé had easy access to the pockets of her jumpsuit. She dropped Anakin's hand, leaving him with a sudden feeling of loss, to pull a small, portable, holoprojector from her pocket. With a few quick clicks of a button, a small image was spread out before Anakin. His heart clenched. Part of him had hoped, foolishly of course, that the flimsi Miraj had given him had been fake, that Padmé hadn't moved on. But from her projector came a picture of two young children, a little bigger than Anakin expected. He didn't know much about children, but they had been so small in the picture the queen had shown him, Anakin hadn't expected the two kids, Padmé's two kids, to be that big. Maybe, he thought, Nubians age quickly in adolescence, that would make sense considering how the planetary age of maturity was much younger than other Core and Mid-Rim worlds.

Anakin froze when Padmé laced her fingers through his. The contact was unexpected. Guilt churned in his stomach, he knew she was married to someone else, was it considered cheating, them being so close? Or was it okay, since they were married first? He didn't know, and the confusion was almost making him sick. "This is Luke," Padmé said, point towards the boy in the picture, "And this is Leia," She said after a moment, pointing to the girl. They were cute, Anakin had to admit. Of course they were, they were Padmé's children, they couldn't be anything less than perfect, he told himself. The boy, Luke, had sandy blond hair and a wide smile, his chin that was nearly entirely hidden by the plush Delta-7 he had clutched close to his chest, his face half buried in it. Padmé's son had a stuffed model of his starfighter and Anakin felt emotions bubble in his chest. It made him proud, seeing the little boy holding tight to the craft and, despite himself, jealous, because Anakin would have given anything in the galaxy for that to be _his_ son holding the toy. "I had to get it specially ordered," Padmé said, when she noticed he was staring at the stuffed starfighter, "They only make generic soft starfighters and he had to get the yellow Delta-7, wouldn't take anything less."

Uncomfortably aware of Padmé's eyes darting between the projection and his face, Anakin turned his attention to the girl. She was without a doubt Padmé's daughter, with her dark curly hair tied back in two braids and the charming smile she wore. Leia, Anakin thought the name, it was beautiful, like the soft breeze on Naboo or the feeling of his mother's hand carding through his hair. "Leia is stubborn," Padmé said, "She knows what she wants, when she wants it and she'll do what needs to be done to get it. Luke is a gentler, calmer, he goes with the flow. The only thing he is stubborn about is exploring. He has such a fascination with the world around him, it's beautiful to watch, really." She sounded wistful as she continues, "A couple of weeks ago he figured out how to take out one of Threepio's eyes, wanting so desperately to know how to works." She sighed and looked back towards him, her eyes a little watery, "He gets that from his father."

Abruptly, Anakin stood up, breaking his hold of Padmé's hand. He ignored her gasp of surprise and took a few angry steps towards the large windows in his room, looking out over the city. He _ached_. "Why are you telling me this?" Anakin hissed, tears threatening to fall, despite himself. It had been years since he cried but Padmé talking about her children with another man, glancing at him as if she needed his approval, hurt more than losing his arm a thousand times over. It was like a lightsaber to the heart.

A heavy silence fell over the room before Padmé said, softly, "You needed to know, Anakin, you should have known a long time ago."

"Know what?" He snapped, his hand automatically going for the ripped flimsi he had saved from the queen's bedroom floor, "That you moved on? That while I've been _suffering_ , a slave again, you've been happy? Starting the family that _we_ wanted together?" The anger in Anakin deflated from his just as quickly as it came and he handed the flimsi to Padmé, "I already know," He said, quietly, "And I'm glad you've lived your life. I'm glad you're happy. Knowing that helped me through the worse, but that doesn't mean I want to hear all about your children with another man."

After a quick glance down at the flimsi, the tension in the room disappeared when Padmé let out a snort, then a giggle, then a full out laugh. "Anakin," She said, wiping the tears, a combination of sadness and laughter away from her cheeks and grabbing his hand, his mechanical one that time, pulled him down to the bed beside her. Once more she pointed to the projected picture of her children, "Anakin," She repeated his name, softly, with so much love that one of the tears threatening to fall finally slipped down his cheek, "Their names are Luke and Leia _Skywalker_. They're twins. _Our_ twins."

For a moment, it felt as if the ground disappeared from beneath him, Padmé's words echoing in his ears.

"But-but," Anakin held to Padmé's hand as if it was his only anchor keeping him from floating off the planet and into the endless galaxy as he tried to wrap his mind around what his wife had said. _Surely_ he would have known he was a father. Somehow there would have been a sign, a feeling, he couldn't have spent four years not knowing he had a child. Two children! Twins! He gestured towards the flimsi that had fallen to the floor as Padmé laughed.

"His name is Eraan," Padmé explained, "He's our nanny. I needed the help." Her words washed over Anakin and his gaze went back to the projected image of Padmé's children. His brain halted. His children.

Eyes hungrily roving their faces, part of Anakin wanted to laugh as well. Of course they were his. Luke's coloring was identical to his, while the boy's features were more similar to Padmé's it was already clear that his chin would be the same as his father's. That was him, Anakin had to tell himself again, he was the boy's father. He was a father. He turned his attention to Leia, she resembled Padmé more obviously but her eyes, one's immediate reaction would be that they were from her mother but really, the color and shape, resembled Shmi.

He should have known they were his as soon as Padmé pulled up the holo. He should have known they were his before that. He should have known years ago, before they were born. He should have been there. Anakin didn't even realize he was crying until Padmé was pulling him close and burying his head against her chest. He sobbed into her embrace for all he had lost and all he had gained, all in that single moment of realization.

"This is the happiest moment of my life," Anakin whispered to Padmé as his tears slowly dried. He had said that to her before, when she first asked him to marry her and then again on their wedding night, each time it was true. But the happiness of both moments paled to what he was feeling, sitting beside Padmé and tracing the holoimage of his children delicately with one finger. After four years living his worst nightmare, a fate worse than death, being with Padmé, learning he had two beautiful children, nothing in the galaxy was better. He was euphoric.

Padmé looked up at him, a hand cupping his cheek, "I'm so glad you're alive." Their faces were near, breath was warm against his cheek, and so Anakin's response was the easiest decision he had made in years, it was to lean down and kiss his wife. Anakin could almost hear the Force singing around them because it was so _right_ to be together again.

* * *

 **A/N:** **What you've all been waiting for has finally happened! The Anidala reunion! This chapter is the reason this story exists. This chapter was the first I wrote for the story. It's my favorite chapter I've written for the story (although the next chapter is a very close second).**

 **I know some people were looking forward to reading about the slave revolt on Zygerria, however, as I've said in most of the notes for this story, it's about the characters emotions, not the actions, which is why I didn't write the slave revolt. I hope you liked this chapter! I look forward to hearing from you all!**


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